


we just try to keep those secrets in a lie

by transstevebucky



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (there are no racist slurs but it's implied), Angst, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Homophobic Slurs, Islamophobia, M/M, Pining, Racism, Uni AU, and really likes pissing them off, anyway, lotsa swears, narry are friends zouis r friends stylinshaw is real, niall hates his dad, nick's not present in the scenes but y'know [shrug], poor!Zayn, rich!Niall, they talk abt poetry a bit at one point, uuuuhhh it goes into a lot of discussion abt social classes tbh, zayn's an introvert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:34:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3342050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transstevebucky/pseuds/transstevebucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall is rich. Zayn isn't. They pretend to be boyfriends for a weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we just try to keep those secrets in a lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justaboat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/gifts).



> based on this prompt: _one where niall is a rich kid looking to piss off his parents -- so he takes zayn, one of the students living with harry in their tiny, cramped, flat, home to meet them._
> 
>  
> 
> _niall's father is a man high up in politics -- idk what anything goes! -- and niall's being sent to school to be polished and ready to take his place when he's all graduated and finished, but niall doesn't want that life planned out for him. he knows zayn through bressie, who works at this bar him, louis, and liam frequent regularly. they're not particularly close or anything, but niall asks him if he'll come home and be his boyfriend for a weekend zayn thinks hell, why not._
> 
>  
> 
> _zayn on the other hand is a bartender with harry, doing his best to put his way through school while also helping his parents out with the bills and putting his sisters through school of their own. so when he gets to niall's overly large mansion, it makes his head spin someone could have this much space in their home -- not to mention the very spacious backyard._
> 
>  
> 
> _niall's parents don't approve, his brother greg tries to pay zayn off to never see him again and zayn gets pissed and leaves. niall and zayn fall in love and all that stuff in between!_
> 
>  
> 
> I changed the prompt up a bit, hope you don't mind! 
> 
> Niall's father is a politician/duke of exeter (it's a very inaccurate portrayals of dukes), Zouis are friends, Narry are friends, Stylinshaw is Real (with a capital R. It's just THAT real), Liam doesn't exist except one line where he's mentioned v briefly WHOOPS. Bressie had no place in this really. I apologize!!
> 
> Thanks to Angie for betaing this even though you don't like ziall and being great in general

Niall has always been expected to do things correctly; be it using the wrong knife and fork or putting his elbows on the table, if he messes up, he’s severely punished. This, Niall thinks, is one of the largest downfalls of having rich and successful parents. 

Capitalism can kindly suck his ass. 

One of the main reasons Niall dislikes his father, however, is his aggressively present classist mindset. Which is why, two years ago, Niall said ‘fuck you’ and went to a small university in Manchester instead of Oxford. His father has since done nothing but criticize him, and above all, threatened to cut all of his money off if Niall didn’t work on top of that. It didn’t bother Niall much anyway; he liked working, something his father didn’t seem to understand. For a famously powerful politician (and Duke of Exeter, Niall thinks bitterly), Niall’s father doesn’t half sit on his ass most days.

This is probably why the phone call comes as a surprise.

“Niall, you need to find a suitor,” his father says, apparently completely unaware he sounds like some kind of shitty king in a historical drama, “she will help you become less wild. You are running yourself off of the rails.” 

Niall holds the phone away from his ear, rolling his eyes and waiting for his father to stop being such a fucking arsehole. 

“I’m gay, dad.” Niall repeats, for maybe the eightieth time in his life. His father lets out an indignant sounding huff, and Niall feels a weird thrill run up and down his spine at the sound. There is nothing in the world he loves doing more than shitting his father’s superiority complex down the drain.

“I’ve told you to call me father, Niall, so many times. And also, there’s no way any son of mine could be such a disgusting faggot, and I refuse to accept it. You will find a female suitor, and you will bring her to the family dinner next week. Goodbye.” His father clicks off the other end before Niall even finds the energy to yell about his father’s homophobic slurs. His father’s a fucking wanker, frankly.

***

“Harry,” Niall whines, “where’s Zayn?” he tries not to think about how much of an eternal question that is. Where is Zayn? Who knows? Even when Zayn is right next to you he’s somewhere else.

Harry levels him with a look that says I overheard that phone conversation and I cannot believe what you’re doing right now. It’s a look that Niall normally has on his face. Harry has turned the tables on him, and really, he should have expected that.

“In my asshole, Niall, Zayn is _hiding in my asshole_. Free him.” Harry is terrible. Niall has no idea why he decided to live with him. He’s always making fun of Niall’s horrific thirst for Zayn, but the second Niall makes a joke about Harry’s thirst for Louis and Nick he’s lynched. Probably because their situation is incredibly different; it’s not often you’re friends with a polygamous frog person.

“Harry.” Niall deadpans, trying to do the pose that always gets Harry cracking up when Louis does it and inevitably failing.

_“Free him.”_

“I hate you. I’m going to the pub. I hate you. When I see Zayn I am going to make him flay you alive.” Niall doesn’t mention the fact Zayn only has to look at him before he forgets everything. It’s hopeless. He doesn’t even know the guy. Harry’s the one who’s friends with him, why is Niall the one completely fucked for him? Zayn’s magical, is what Niall has decided.

***

Zayn’s card has been declined several times, but this is the worst time for it to happen. His mum’s on the other end of the phone, talking about Waliyha’s drinking caution and the inevitable fine from it, and the screen is saying _money not available_. _You are a poor wanker._

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He hisses, biting his lip hard and retyping the pin. It offers the same result; a mockery of his lack of wealth.  
His mum pauses on the other end, lets out a loud sigh, and asks what the problem is. If there’s one thing Zayn doesn’t want to do, it’s to stress his mum out. So, like most other adults in his situation, he lies. He lies and tells her that he’s got some project he needs to finish for the early part of next week, and she tells him she loves him and clicks off the phone. _Zayn is so, so fucked._

He turns around, mouths a sorry at Bressie, and pushes the pint back to him. Bressie shrugs, nonchalant, and waves Zayn off.

It takes a couple of minutes for Zayn to reacquaint himself with his mind, but when he does, he slides into the seat next to Louis and flops his head onto his best mate’s shoulder. Louis frowns and cards his fingers through Zayn’s (admittedly drooping) quiff.

“Did your card get declined again?” Louis asks, biting his lip in the worried way that always makes Zayn’s heart feel lucky. He’s so lucky to have Louis in his life, to have someone this fucking great around him at all times. Louis is one of the few people that knows Zayn and his problems and just smokes with him instead of moping. He’s also one of the few people who get his money issues; he grew up in a big family, too, always had to cheap out and buys the less nice things. It’s one of the reasons Louis moved in with him; it was the only flat he could afford. 

“Yes,” Zayn mumbles, moving into Louis’ touch like a cat, “I don’t think I can pay rent this month, Lou, I’m sorry.” 

Louis shrugs, always unbothered when people can’t pay their way, always willing to take up the slack. Zayn supposes that’s why he’s with both Nick and Harry; he’s completely chill about pretty much everything.

_Talking about chill about pretty much everything…_

Niall’s scent hits him first, the smell of beer and rich kid battering Zayn’s senses, and if he was less bitter about being poor, he might like the scent. As it is, Zayn’s out of all of his best cologne and has been getting by with testers from Boots for the past month and a half. So the smell just pisses him off.

“Alright, Lou? Zayn?” Niall’s Irish brogue would be funny if Zayn were drunk, but he’s not, so it isn’t.

“I hate poverty,” Zayn whines, “so much.” 

Niall gives him a wry smile, and Zayn feels the tremor in his hands the way he always does when Niall’s near him. The fact Niall knows this isn’t his time to bitch, this isn’t his time to complain, makes pure admiration strike through Zayn’s cold and bitter heart. He is strong and not at all endeared by Niall.

“I’m sorry about capitalism,” Niall says, before taking a deep breath and contorting his features, “also will you pretend to be my boyfriend for a weekend?”  
Zayn has no idea why he says it, maybe because he’s a masochist, but he says yes.

***

Zayn has made a lot of stupid decisions in the past, probably, but this takes the fucking cake.

The drive from Manchester to Exeter takes a bit over four hours with minimal traffic, but on a day where snow is floating to the ground and actually sticking for once, Zayn and Niall will be lucky if they make it in six. Which means the lack of conversation Zayn is used to with people like Louis, who he’s comfortable with, is lacking in itself. 

Zayn hates small talk, hates it, would rather do literally anything else than make conversation about England’s shitty weather and the traffic. It’s even worse, it appears, when one person won’t stop talking and the other is prone to start kicking things if it’s too loud.

“I’m so glad you’re doing this.” Niall says, giving Zayn a look that says I really do mean it. It would be a lot easier to find Niall annoying if he was a lot less sweet. 

“No problem.” He didn’t say he couldn’t be an asshole, though.

They drive quietly for a while after that, the outside of Manchester passing with a blur. If Zayn had some kind of writing utensil, or drawing pad, he’d do something to pass the time. He’s been working on a series of poetry for a while now, but he can never get it to run smoothly. Maybe if he talks about it…

“Hey, Niall, you did an intro to Lit class last semester, didn’t you?” It’s a stupid question; Zayn spent a lot of time wondering why Niall would want to do a lit class when he was so much more than a writer. Zayn had always quietly thought Niall would make a good guitarist/singer.

Niall seems to light up at the mention of the class, though, eyes popping wide and teeth on display, straight from the years of braces.

“Yes, I loved it. I didn’t carry on with it ‘cause-,” he coughs, eyes watering a bit, “…Of reasons. Yeah, because of reasons. My favourite bit of the class was the section on free verse poetry. I don’t really like poetry much, but free verse is kind of like music.”

Zayn feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth; his theories about Niall and music were right, then.

“I was just wondering, right, ‘cause I’m coming up with a poetry series and I think it might help if I can talk to you about it?” Zayn’s tentative, not wanting to push Niall into a conversation he doesn’t want but at the same time knowing the only conversation he wants to have is about poetry. He is actually a ridiculous nerd.  
Niall’s smile stretches right across his face, the tips of his ears going slightly pink with it. 

“Yeah, of course,” Niall says, looking awestruck for some reason unbeknownst to Zayn, “go on.”

Niall, driving smoothly, waits for Zayn to begin the conversation, and within minutes, the car’s flooding with a conversation purely about free verse poetry. The feeling of relief this gives Zayn is unequal to any other; small talk he detests, but long winded conversations about his favourite subject he can handle pretty fucking well.

So they talk, and between the conversations about poetry, Zayn learns some things about Niall. His smile twitches when he tries not to laugh, his eyes flicker when they want to search for a space on the motorway, and he hates his dad. Zayn’s slightly stunned by this information; why would he be going with Niall on a trip to Exeter to see Niall’s father if Niall hated him?

“It’s just,” Niall sighs, slowing the car at seeing the red light, “he’s a bit of a prick, y’know? He’s always goin’ on about the fact I should be at, like, Oxford. He kicked up a right fuss when I opted for Manchester, which is part of the reason I’m here anyway. I’m tryna get back at him for being a heteronormative piece of shit, so you’re here to get under his skin. I’m meant to be bringing a girl, but considering the fact I’m gay…” Niall lets out a slow, weary sigh, the kind of sigh that comes from someone who’s always had a shitty dad.  
Zayn doesn’t get it, really. 

His mum and dad have always been fine with him dating whoever he wants, they just prefer him to be nice and respectful to all he’s involved with. Which is something he’d do naturally, anyway, be nice to people. He’d grown up around nice people; between Louis and Harry, Nick and a guy called Liam who studies abroad now, he’d just kind of accepted the fact that queer people existed, him included. If he’d grown up around a family like Niall’s, though, he doesn’t think he’d handle it well. In fact, he’d probably handle it the exact same way Niall is now; bringing a guy along he barely knows to meet his parents just to piss them off. 

“Shit, Ni, I’m sorry,” Zayn frowns, “I’ll try to piss them off as much as possible, then, yeah?”

Niall’s eyes give a wild glint, and he nods ferociously, pulling up a junction when the traffic starts to move again.

“Yes, fine, I’m good with that. Oh, and about my brother, Greg…” Niall trails off, looking suddenly upset, and Zayn’s heart lurches into his throat. Niall’s just this really happy person, full of joy and compassion and an unrelenting need to be there for people, and apparently something about his brother pisses all of that away. The mere idea of anyone giving Niall that much shit for anything feels inherently evil.

“Niall,” Zayn croons, fucking croons, because he likes Niall, he really likes Niall. In the hour and a half they’ve had together in this car, he’s started to feel irrationally protective of him. Is this how Louis feels about Zayn? If so, Zayn’s going to shit him up when he next sees him, hug him until he can’t breathe, and then maybe act less forbidding of Nick (because Nick makes Louis happy, even if he can be a bit of a dick. The same would go for Harry; too, except for the fact Harry’s terrifyingly nice at the best of times and a child at the worst.) 

“No, it’s fine, it’s just. Greg’s really quite racist sometimes, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, but you’re the only person hot enough to defy all laws my parents have put in place, and well. If you want to stop here, turn back around, I can make Harry come with me, or something, just. Tell me?”

And here’s the thing. Zayn grew up around a lot of racist arseholes, a lot of islamophobes, a lot of pricks, but he also grew up knowing that the colour of his skin counted for shit all when compared to his personality. Zayn grew up knowing that if you protect other people as much you can, if you love other people as much as is possible, you’ll get somewhere beautiful in life. Zayn thinks this somewhere beautiful could be anywhere with Niall, he’s such a sunny bastard, so as much the prospect of being in the same house as a known racist for a weekend scares him a little, it’s also not much different to any other part of his life. There’s always going to be a crew of arseholes around, but Zayn figures, _why not just fuck them up?_

“Nah, mate, I’ll be fine,” Zayn grins, “I am quite hot. Harry the Frog simply wouldn’t do.” 

Niall’s returning smile has butterflies shooting into the pit of Zayn’s belly, but nobody needs to know that except him.

***

After their conversation, Zayn decided to take a nap, so he startles awake just as they’re coming out of Worcester.

Niall grins over at him from the driving seat, and Zayn tries to contain the fond smile that erupts over his face in vain. 

“Was gonna wake you up soon, anyway, glad I didn’t have to. Harry’s always saying you’re a nightmare in the morning. Anyway, I need to stop sometime soon so I can ‘ave a piss, d’you want anything from the services?” 

“I need a piss, too, actually. And, no, I don’t think so. Card got declined, can’t do much with twenty pence besides cry over your lack of fortune.” Zayn shrugs. He’s kind of used to not having not only the things he wants, but the things he needs. 

Niall gives him a full on glare, which looks a little bit funny and a little bit endearing, because Niall’s about as scary as Waliyha’s labradoodle puppy.

“Zayn, if you think you’re paying for anything this trip, you’re fuckin’ mistaken. You’re gonna have to endure the shitty comments my family makes, so I’m paying you in food. You can think of it as compensation, if you want.” His voice brooks no argument, and Zayn cringes at the idea of Niall paying for him. 

With Louis, he’s used to it; he can deal with Louis paying for things, because he’s done the same thing for Louis time and time again. But Niall’s never properly struggled with money the way Zayn or Louis have, he doesn’t think. Niall’s never had the overwhelming pressure of having to work out where next month’s rent is coming from, or how to pay his sisters’ way into college and university when you only got in to your own uni with a scholarship programme.

“Ehh,” Zayn whines, sounding like the bitchiest toddler on the playground, “I can handle it, honest-”

Niall claps a hand over Zayn’s mouth, shakes his head vehemently, and stares straight ahead as he drives around the service station’s car park.

“You’re getting a huge-ass burger, Zayn; I literally don’t care what you say.” Niall frowns, as if Zayn has wronged him in some way, and oh. _Oh, God, no, that’s not fair._

“Yhu cshn’t dhu eh puppeh ois!” Zayn groans, voice hopelessly muffled where Niall’s hand covers it. Niall refuses to let go, though, even as he parks up and Zayn starts to unplug himself from his seat. Niall’s a bit of a bastard, really.

“Free him.” The faux blond boy whispers, eyes alight with bright humour. He releases Zayn just as he hops out of the car, winks, and jets off like an Irish whirlwind. 

Zayn’s a little bit dumbfounded, but even he can’t help the roar of fond that washes over him when Niall turns round long enough to give him a cocky grin.

***

Half an hour later, they’re on the road again, burgers sitting in their stomachs, fries on the dashboard. If Zayn were less used to people force feeding him, he’d be a little bit annoyed that it happened; as it is, it’s hard to be with Niall about anything. He has the kind of face that could get away with actual murder, which is kind of frustrating for Zayn, because there’s not much Zayn can get away with at all. _Stupid racist hierarchy_ …

“Everyone who says Burger King is the lesser cousin of McDonalds is completely wrong,” Niall moans, steering one handed, patting his tummy with the other hand. Zayn’d find it annoying, but. _Surprise, surprise,_ Niall is too cute to find annoying. 

“What about food critics?” Zayn asks, snide smile creeping over his face. Louis says that his snide smile is the wet dream of a psychopath, but since when has anyone listened to Louis? 

Niall narrows his eyes at Zayn, looking like if he was pressed he could probably kill him.

“They are the outliers and their votes shall not be counted.” He responds haughtily, before jerking the steering wheel to the left to swerve into a calmer lane.

Honestly, if Zayn died in this car right now, he’d probably die happy.

***

An hour and a half later, it’s snowing again, and Zayn’s got his head on the cold window, smiling as he listens to Niall rant and rave about the various shortcomings of his family and his upbringing. It’s nice, really, to hear about how shitty Niall’s childhood was and know that wealth isn’t actually anything, no matter what anyone says. It’s nice to feel like, for once, Zayn hasn’t missed out on anything.

“It’s just, like, they expect so much of me all the time. All the fucking time, I’ve got to do this, go here, and act like I care about my parents’ title. Why should I have to care about my father’s brand of political stance? It’s just thinly veiled bigotry, the fuckin’ cunt.” Niall’s huffing, his breath misting even at this temperature.

“Isn’t all politics thinly veiled bigotry? Besides the anomalous labour politician, they’re all pretty much the same, aren’t they? They’re all just liars and bigots.” Zayn responds, and it’s worth it for the grin that stretches on Niall’s face, ear to ear.

“You’re not wrong, Zee,” Niall chirps, finally moving the car forwards through the snow.

“Hey, Nialler, shouldn’t you talk to Harry? He said to call once we hit Bristol, didn’t he?” Zayn asks, suddenly, as the small sign declaring their entrance to Bridgwater appears in his field of vision. No doubt Harry will be shitting himself, trying to find comfort in Louis and Nick. 

Niall’s hand slips from the steering wheel for the briefest of moments, and the car slides towards the left, snow shoving it along, and Zayn’s whole life flashes before his eyes. It will be here where he dies, in the town of Bridgwater, with a man who looks like a furby and talks like a sailor. This will surely be his end.

“Fuck, shit, bollocks, fuck! Yes, fuck, go on, ring ‘im! He’ll be going ape!” Niall swears, loud and obnoxious in a way Zayn could only hope to pull off. 

Niall’s hands are whiter than usual from the pressure of holding on to the steering wheel, shoving them back the right way. Somewhere to the left, a group of teenagers chortle at their lack of driving skills. Niall flips them the bird, and shoots as fast as possible up the road, out of sight of the teenagers.

Zayn snatches Niall’s phone off of the dashboard, and Niall calls out a set of instructions as to how to unlock the screen. Snickering at Niall’s password (c0cksuck4), he brings up his contacts and prays to every single deity that the frog emoji is Harry.

It is.

“You fucking twat, Niall! You fucking twa-” Zayn holds the phone away from his ear, letting Harry scream into the void for shits and giggles.

“You’re wrong. It’s Zayn,” Zayn sighs, after about two minutes of Harry’s yelling. It appears that, despite having a best friend in Niall, his use of profanity is fairly limited. This is kind of disappointing, actually. It’s not often you get to hear frogs use the word ‘twat’ like it’s the only adjective available in the English language.

“Oh,” Harry mumbles, and Zayn can actually hear his frown, “sorry, Zayn, I didn’t realize.”

“No problem, mate, but you might want a dictionary for your next bout of profanity. You overuse twat so much it becomes ineffective. Anyway, we just wanted to say we’re alive,” Zayn thinks to two minutes ago, and amends “we’re barely alive. Sorry we didn’t phone earlier, Niall was driving and there was shitty reception.” Zayn’s pulling excuses out of his arse, here, but Harry sighs as if satisfied, so they can’t be _that_ horrifyingly bad.

“Yeah, sure, no problem. Thanks for calling now, I gue- hey wait a minute, what do you mean barely ali-” Zayn hangs up before he even gets the whole word out, and switches Niall’s phone on silent just to be sure.

Niall slaps him a high five, and a smile creeps onto Zayn’s face without his permission. He can’t help it. Niall’s just too lovely to resist.

***

Zayn startles awake with a jerk, forehead smacking forward against the glass. Whining in irritation, he rubs his forehead and tries to push away the nauseous feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t like sleeping in cars; finds it a bit disassociating to fall asleep one place and wake up in another, but he’s so tired that he doesn’t even really care.  
The car’s parked up, but it’s so dark outside they can’t even see outside of the car’s headlights. 

In the driver’s seat, Niall’s snow white, shaking in his seat. The sight of him, so much fear rolling off him in waves, makes Zayn feel ill for a whole other reason. He can’t believe he let himself nap when Niall was freaking himself out, what kind of arsehole _does_ that?

“Hey, Nialler, it’s gonna be fine, I promise.” Zayn mumbles, pressing his hand into Niall’s shaking shoulder and hoping it shows some kind of comfort Zayn’s too tired to give him right now.

He feels like a bit of an arsehole, honestly, but if Niall really needed him he could have woken him up, right?

“I’m scared shitless, Zayn, they’re so fucking awful. It’s okay, like, mostly, facing them and knowing I’m gay and they hate people like me, but it’s entirely different knowing somebody else you care about could get hurt because of it.” Niall looks panicked, eyes wide and wild. 

Zayn does the only thing he can; presses a gentle kiss to Niall’s cheek. It’s a tactic he’d learned when he was growing up; Louis used to do it all the time to calm his sisters down, and Zayn had done it with his sisters, too. 

The cheek kiss seems to mildly unhinge Niall, though, so maybe it wasn’t the right choice.

“Fuck, right, yeah. Sorry. Shit.” Niall nods, jerky and sharp, but his eyes look less serial killer-esque, and that’s kind of all that Zayn can ask for right now.

So they get out of the car, and Niall gets the bags from the boot, and leaves Zayn to stare at the huge house-like shadow looming in his eye-line. 

It’s huge, is the thing, and Zayn’s never really understood why people would need big houses unless they had a big family, so it leaves him reeling, a bit. He’s going to be staying at this place for two nights, and it’s fucking huge, what if he gets lost, never to be found again?

“Big, innit?” Niall asks, grimacing at the sight of the house.

“It’s… ridiculous…” Zayn decides, and Niall nods his agreement just as the front door swings open.

The lawn is bathed in bright, yellow light, and it takes a moment for Zayn to adjust to the sudden light, to realize that there was a man walking towards them, and that Zayn should probably not be ten feet away from Niall, lest this man think they’re not a couple. He slides closer to Niall, and feels the way Niall’s body is thrumming under his touch, the way that he seems electric. The jolt in his stomach is decidedly not one of fear.

“Niall! You’re late, father said you should have been here around four,” the man says, and narrows his eyes at Zayn, “and who’s this? I thought you were meant to be bringing a suitor, not a city dreg.”

Zayn feels anger flare in his stomach, feels it curl its tendrils, gripping at the edges. He has to remind himself to calm down; it’s not the first time someone’s been classist, and it won’t be the last.

“This is Zayn, my boyfriend, so shut your slimy-ass trap and stop acting like you’re God’s gift. Do you want me to tell Denise about that night out in Glasgow?” Niall snarls, voice angry. Zayn has to bite his inner cheek in order to not start laughing.

Greg pales obviously at the thought, and wordlessly takes the bags from Niall.

“I won’t say a word, just. Please don’t tell Denise.”Greg murmurs, and Niall glares at him.

“If you didn’t want Denise to know, shithead, you’d not of done it. It’s your own bloody fault.” Niall isn’t taking any of Greg’s shit, it seems, which makes sense. Greg doesn’t really have any hold over Niall at all, or anyone else.

In the car, Niall had said that Greg was a useless racist with a God complex, and it kind of seems to be true. 

They walk in silence from then on, until they step through the doors and into a ridiculously large entrance hall, when Niall presses a gentle kiss to Zayn’s cheek and winks at him, before drawling out a, “Father, we know you’re watching.”

A man, about forty, portly and clean shaven, steps out from behind a ridiculously placed pillar. He’s got cold eyes, like a snake, and Zayn’s stomach churns at the idea of walking near him. The way he’s narrowing his eyes at Zayn surely can’t be a good thing.  
Zayn does what he can to appear calm, but can’t steady the shake in his hands.

“And who,” his father growls, voice low, “is this?”

Niall looks completely done with everything. Completely done, and Zayn half expects him to grab their bags and turn back around, as Zayn trails after him. He doesn’t, though, he raises one eyebrow in perfect synchronisation as he weaves his arm around Zayn’s waist. His arm’s a steady weight, and it eases the fear out of Zayn’s mind fairly well. If Niall did this all the time, he’d probably be less stressed.

“Well, father, you asked for a suitor, I brought a suitor who is to my taste. You’d think, being one of the higher up politicians in the country, you could add these circumstances up, but you continue to bemuse, befuddle and amaze me.” The way Niall’s voice goes pompous makes Zayn’s skin crawl. He hates it; likes it better when he’s yelling profanities into the air, when he’s mocking Harry, Louis and Nick. 

This, this change of voice, is obviously a defence mechanism, and the idea sends Zayn’s mind down a rabbit hole of fear and aching despair. Why does he need to defend himself? It’s his bloody voice, for fuck’s sake! 

“Niall, I know you think you’re a disgusting faggot, but it’s just a phase, dear boy. This…” His father trails off, looking Zayn up and down, “man is not a suitor; he’s a mistake!”  
Zayn grins, because really, what can you do? There’s really only two ways to see this; with anger, or with deep, deep amusement and a vague sense of rage.

“Oh, fuck off, you shit mongering infestation. It was a phase when I kissed a girl in secondary school, a phase I’ve grown out of, thanks very much. Heterosexuality is frankly evil; wouldn’t you say so, Zayn?” Niall’s smirking at Zayn, and Zayn’s smirking back.

“Fuck, yeah, I would. Have you noticed the way everything goes ‘tits up’ when a heterosexual passes? Its incredible people let their children see people like that, really. I wish they wouldn’t get married, it destroys the sanctity of it….” Zayn replies, voice rolling with humour, and Niall’s father bubbles with rage, if the way his hands curl into tight fists is anything to go by.

“You know, Niall, you walk a fine line between being a disgrace to this family and a disgrace to the human race.” He’s angry, face turning pinker and pinker with the second, and Niall laughs at him. _Laughs_. 

“You know, father, you might be fucking right about that. I must be a total disgrace to every member of the earth, mustn’t I? I am obviously so much worse than those who commit genocide or cast their own children out for being themselves, which is actually something detestable by Christianity, though I’m sure you know that?” Niall gives a snide smile to his father.

“Timothy 5:8 ‘But if anyone does not provide for his relatives, and especially for members of his household, he has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.’ Funny how you choose to be a Christian at the most helpful of times, isn’t it, father?” Niall’s voice is steady, calm, like he’s used to having to quote the bible to appease his father.  
It’s just kind of funny; the way Niall’s father bubbles up with rage and then spills over, the way he visibly deflates, fight gone out of him. He’s going to be an arsehole, but Niall’s trapped him for now.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get Claire to cook us some pasta, because despite the fact we live in the 21st century, you think it’s alright to have a servant. And then I’m going to pay her all the money I’ve got, because God knows you don’t pay her enough for the shit she has to deal with.” Niall tugs on Zayn’s arm, and they move together into the kitchen, Greg walking behind them to put their bags on the gorgeous dinner table before leaving again.

Zayn smiles at Niall once everyone else has gone, at the way his ears have gone bright pink. He’s so lovely, is the thing, so loyal to all he likes and loves, and it makes something stir inside of Zayn. Something kind of feral, if he’s going to be honest.

“You’re so great,” he sighs, and Niall laughs, pressing another kiss to Zayn’s cheek, and Zayn hopes he doesn’t feel the way his cheek flames in response. 

“You’re not bad, yourself, Malik. The heterosexuality bit, I thought I was gonna fuckin’ die, mate.” Mate, Zayn thinks hollowly, you’re his mate. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you… lad…” Zayn cringes internally at the word, but if Niall notices that it’s a bit weird, he doesn’t react. He just claps Zayn on the back and leaves him alone, wandering into a back room calling for Claire.

Zayn looks around the kitchen, and feels mildly disgusted. It’s highly polished, all marble, food bursting out of nearly every cupboard in the room. The giant dinner table makes their bags seem ridiculously tiny. It’s stupid, because it’s only his father and his wife living here, not a whole family. Niall had told him in the car that they’d bought this when Niall went off to university, because they hadn’t wanted Niall to think too highly of himself. The idea of Niall’s parents not wanting Niall to think he’s worth anything makes him feel a bit ill.

Niall shuffles back into the room, then, chatting with a tall, thin lady who must be Claire. Her eyes are crinkled in laughter, smile wide and pleased. It’s nice, seeing Niall interact with someone he must have known for years. 

“Claire, this is Zayn, Zayn, this is Claire. We all hate my father, which means we’re all friends.” Claire rolls her eyes at Niall’s introduction, but kisses Zayn on the cheek and hugs him, anyway, so he’s not that bothered. 

He wonders if maybe it was Claire who got Niall so into cheek kissing, if maybe it was Claire who taught Niall how to be a good person, or if it was Niall looking at his parents and thinking ‘I don’t want to be like them.’ If Niall was always just a good person or if he had to unlearn all of the negativity his parents shoved down his throat when he was growing up.  
“Nice to meet you,” Zayn smiles, and Claire winks at him before getting pots and pans out for the pasta Niall had asked her for.

Whilst Claire is cooking, Niall chats with both of them about his father and his neglectful tendencies, and Zayn finds himself a bit confused. When he was younger, he was never neglected by his parents unless it was absolutely necessary; unless his sisters were sick, they all got equal attention and love. Zayn doesn’t understand how anyone could neglect their children, or not love them enough, or flat out hate them. He doesn’t understand why Niall still tries to impress his parents, even if it is deep down.

Without thinking, he finds his hand working its way to Niall’s, and Niall grabs his hand and holds it. Niall is warm, a furnace, and blazing white hot under Zayn’s touch, and he feels electric. There are few people who Zayn would kill for, but he thinks maybe Niall could be one of them. 

“Claire, do you need any help?” Niall asks, as she’s finishing up cooking the pasta and is putting it into a tray for it to be baked.

Claire tuts at him, “Niall, it’s my job, darling. I can handle it, honestly. You treat me too well.” 

Zayn mouths wordlessly at her; how can Niall be treating her ‘too well’? He’s barely _done anything, he only asked_. Fuck, Niall’s parents must be downright _evil_ if Claire considers Niall half-asking if she wants help ‘too well’. Again, Zayn feels a hot surge of anger, and has to remind himself that it’s not Niall’s fault his parents are evil, it’s theirs. 

Niall taps the back of Zayn’s hand, frowning at him.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, and Zayn shakes his head, telling him not to bother. But he presses his thumb into Zayn’s wrist in retaliation.

“It’s just. When I was growing up, mum and dad did everything by themselves, and when mum got a job as a chef it took ages for her to be able to order anyone around in the kitchen. It just seems a bit, I dunno… wrong, that Claire thinks you asking if she needs help seems like you’re treating her too well. It seems downright weird.” He demurs, and Niall crinkles up his nose like an upset baby, but Claire turns round to respond before Niall even gets to open his mouth.

“It’s an awful job to have, servicing someone’s needs for a tiny pay, Zayn, I agree. Especially when the people paying you are so… ignorant. But it is my job, and should I not do things myself, I will not get paid. It’s an awful home to be in, and I have the scars to prove it. I hate this job with all of my heart, but if I leave they can sully my name beyond belief, and I will never get a job again.” Claire murmurs, voice low enough that should anyone be listening they’d hear the clanking of pots and pans as she washes them in the marble sink.

The words she’s spoken whir around Zayn’s brain until they go to bed that night.

***

It appears neither Zayn nor Niall had thought about the fact they’d have to share a bed. They freeze in front of the bedroom’s door as it closes, looking at the bed with unblinking eyes.

Niall’s father hadn’t emerged after they’d eaten their pasta, but Niall’s mother had swooped in, given Zayn a filthy look, and said they should go to bed or they wouldn’t wake up early tomorrow morning for breakfast.

So, here they are. In a room. Alone. With one bed. Admittedly, it’s a large bed, so it won’t be difficult to not get awkwardly close to each other during the night, but there’s still only one duvet, and Zayn hogs the blankets, so.

“Well, shit.” Niall groans, flattening his hand over his face and sighing.

“Hey, no, it’s not that big of a problem, like. We’ll just sleep on different sides of the bed, ‘s fine.” Zayn says, not thoroughly convinced of this himself. He’s a cuddler when he sleeps, and with Louis, it’s fine, he’s used to it (Louis’ a cuddler, too, but vehemently denies it every time Zayn tries to bring it up).

Niall frowns, blinking at Zayn.

“You sure, mate? I don’t wanna, like, make it weird.” 

“Niall, no offense, but I came here to pretend to be your boyfriend, it’s already pretty weird.” Zayn points out, and Niall shrugs in agreement, before pulling off his clothes without another thought.

Zayn chokes on his own breath, averting his eyes as Niall strips down completely and gets out some chequered pyjama bottoms.

Zayn reaches for his own bag, heartbeat fluttering hard in his throat, the smooth lines of Niall’s pale body wavering behind his closed eyes. He’s fit, and you’d be hard pressed not to see it, but Zayn doesn’t want to see it. He doesn’t want to make this weirder than it already is.

Zayn strips out of his shirt, trousers and boxers before quickly pulling on the joggers he’d packed to sleep in. No doubt Niall’s family would faint at the sight of such reckless abandon in regards to the fashion world.

When he turns back ‘round, he sees Niall’s already in bed, cheeks burning bright red as he avoids Zayn’s gaze, instead searching for something. It seems he finds it, wielding it like a sword in a battle, and he clicks a button on it.

A television rises from the foot of a bed, a 30 inch flat screen that is no doubt in high definition. Zayn’s television in his flat is a tiny, boxy pile of crap, and he feels embarrassment rear its ugly head. He hates being poor, hates being unable to pay for things his own way and he acts like it’s okay, but it’s not, really, it’s not okay at all. He’s so tired of proving people right, of proving to people that he’s not worth much, he’s so tired of it, and being in this frankly _ridiculous_ house doesn’t make it any easier.

Because who fucking needs eight bedrooms when there’s only two of you living in the house? Who needs wet rooms and libraries and dining rooms and a recreation room? Who needs three swimming pools and a ridiculously large background? Who needs that? 

It’s fucking irritating, because people like Niall’s parents could do so much, could make life easier for people living in poverty, but instead they get paid a ridiculous amount to spout complete and utter bullshit. It pisses him off. Conservative arseholes, absolute fucking first grade dickheads.

“I’m sorry.” Niall breathes, and oh. He must have been showing the irritation on his face, must have been looking like he’d kill something, but it’s not Niall that’s the problem, it’s the whole system. Niall’s lovely, and nice, and he tries so hard, and he’s nothing like his parents. 

So Zayn doesn’t yell at him or pull away or give him a dirty look.

He smiles.

***

Rich people apparently wake people up at six in the morning, which adds to the fire of hatred for the wealthy in Zayn’s mind. Only followers of evil could expect university aged people to get up and do things before it’s even light out, in Zayn’s humble opinion.

Niall’s as pissed off about it as he is, growling about how he forgot about their need to see the sun rise (“They’re the _most_ pretentious, honestly.”)

Niall steals the en suite before Zayn even drags himself out of bed, and Zayn just whines about it for ten minutes, the sound of running water acting as a nice background to his woeful exclamations. 

When Niall comes out of the shower, his hairs damp and hanging across his head, shirt sticking to his skin, jeans low slung on his hip. Zayn stares at the ceiling and begs for someone to smite him before he presses his mouth to Niall’s visible hips. 

“Shower’s yours,” Niall grunts, eyes looking unbearably downcast. _He’s so cute Zayn is so fucked! He’s so fucked! He’s so, so fucked! Zayn really, really likes Niall and this is not the time! This is not the time at all!_

Zayn’s out of the door before Niall even manages to complain about his parents.

***

The hot water scalds his skin, and he lets it. He can’t believe he agreed to this whole thing, he really can’t. What kind of an idiot agrees to spend a weekend pretending to be a hot boy’s boyfriend? _Zayn_. Zayn is the kind of idiot that agrees to spend a weekend pretending to be a hot boy’s boyfriend.

He tilts his head into the water’s stream, trying to lose himself in the dizzying heat and failing dismally.

He’s always liked Niall, and he _knew_ that, he knew it from the moment he met him that having a crush on him was completely inevitable, but he never thought he’d be in so deep he’d agree to spend a weekend with actual, real life bigots, Christ. The thought makes him a little bit ill, churning his stomach as he lathers his hair up and watches the soap slide down the drain. 

He hates Niall’s father, is something he’s already decided, and he doesn’t think he’s going to like Niall’s mother much, either. Greg’s a pillock, but Zayn suspects it’s because he never had any time to realize his own identity, or some kind of apologist bullshit like that.

Honestly, the only three good things about this weekend are spending time with Niall, Claire, and free food. Or, at least, he _hopes_ it’s free. Niall’s parents seem like the type to tax him based on how much loo roll he uses.

By the time the conditioner suds are draining away from sight, Zayn’s heart is thrumming loudly in his chest, and he can hear Niall moving around in the bedroom, moving things around and no doubt trying to pass time until Zayn gets out of his shower in a way that’s conducive to a focused environment.

Zayn hops out of the glass box, towels himself off, and clambers clumsily into his boxers and jeans, leaving his towel around his neck as he walks into the bedroom to find a tshirt.

Zayn’s suspicions are confirmed at the sight of Niall’s body bent double as he routes around for something, and he startles when Zayn pokes him with a bare toe.

“Shite! Don’t do that!” Niall yelps, eyes wild. 

“Alright, calm your tits, I won’t do it again,” Zayn laughs, hands in the air, “what are you looking for, anyway?” 

“My feckin’ sock! It fell off when I was sorting out … something, and now I can’t find it. I only brought one pair with me.” Niall’s voice climbs higher and higher with each passing moment, so Zayn decides to free him of his pain and claps him on the back.

“You can borrow a pair of mine, for now. Lou got me into the habit of never wearing socks, anyway. I don’t really need them.” He doesn’t voice the fact that the reason he even has socks is because he can never afford the electricity to put the heat on, and it hadn’t occurred to him that it wouldn’t be the same here.

The thing about being poor is, once you’ve spent so long having nothing, you kind of forget other people have everything. You kind of forget that other people don’t have to turn back around in shops because the prices are too high, that other people can sit in Starbucks with a cup of tea and not have to declare bankruptcy. 

When you’re poor, you start to see things from a poor perspective; you don’t see the slashed prices as a deal if it’s still over five pounds, you just see it as five pounds that will tip you into your overdraft.

He voices none of this, because Niall doesn’t know. He won’t know unless his family cut him off, he won’t know unless he’s lived like this for years. He won’t understand, and that’s okay, but it’s also frustrating that the whole of Zayn’s life is spent _knowing_ and Niall doesn’t even have to think about it.

***

They make their way downstairs at seven, the house full of vibrant lights not made for this early in the day. Zayn is a firm believer in staying up all night and sleeping all day; it’s why, when given the option, he decided to choose night classes. 

“Morning, Niall,” Claire greets, voice monotone, as they shuffle sleepily into the kitchen. 

Niall’s mother and father are sipping tea, eyes cold as they watch Niall and Zayn join the table. 

“Where’s Greg?” Niall asks, reaching for Claire’s hand as she comes to give him a cup of tea. He wraps his arm around her waist and smiles up at her in thanks, and white hot jealousy flares through Zayn’s stomach. 

_Chill_ , he tells himself, _chill for once_.

“Gregory went out with Denise to show the paparazzi that not all those who meet our acquaintance are scum.” Niall’s mother says, snide as she corrects Niall. She reaches for her own cup of tea, nails manicured perfectly in a way Zayn’s mothers’ never have been. What’s the point in getting manicures if you’re a cook, anyway?

Niall cocks an eyebrow, “Paparazzi? Since when do paps hang around in Exeter?” 

His father levels him with a pissed off look that could probably kill people. As if Niall isn’t correct. _Nobody normal hangs around in Exeter,_ Niall had told him last night, _they’re all rich freaks_. 

“Since our own son decided to bring a ratty dreg home as his boyfriend, that’s when. They’ve been camped out all night, must have caught wind of the big dinner tonight.” Niall’s father’s voice is low, and he glares at Zayn like he’s done something completely and utterly disgusting. 

Zayn eats his toast and doesn’t say anything, ears burning. _Ignore it. Ignore it. They can’t do anything if you ignore it._

“No offence, father, but the only thing that makes your campaign any kind of interesting is my existence.” Niall sounds completely calm, like he really doesn't care about what his parents are saying. It’s a monumental feat, and Zayn can’t help but start to grin as he chews his piece of toast.

There is no doubt in Zayn’s mind that Niall’s show of blasé nonchalance is a hollow façade which protects him from feeling anything. Surely it can’t be healthy, keeping all that inside?

 _Says you_ , the irritating self-aware voice purrs at the back of his head, _have you ever been honest about any of your problems?_

He shakes the thought off, just decides to watch Niall’s parents’ reactions. They look positively scandalized, Niall’s father opening his mouth to speak, but his mother beats him to the chase.

“Niall, don’t speak to your father that way.” Niall’s mother berates him, and Niall cocks an eyebrow without twitching any other facial muscle. It’s truly an art form.

“Tell him to stop being such an A-Plus shithead, then, mother, not being funny. If you want me to treat him with respect, he better do the same for me.” Crumbs’ sticking to Niall’s chin, his voice is thick with his mouthful of buttery toast and annoyance.

His mother slams her hand down on the table, eyes suddenly blazing.

“I won’t have you play up for laughs from a boy who looks pre-pubescent! I will not allow you to treat either of us this way. I want you to finish eating, you and your disgusting scum of a partner. Come back tonight, when you’ve calmed down.” His mother’s eyes are blazing, and Zayn feels a burst of fury burn through him.

Red blurs around the edge of his vision. He hates being talked down to, but even more than that, he hates being talked to as if he isn’t even there. 

“I don’t think I’m scum, sorry,” Zayn yells, slamming his hand down on the table and standing up, whole body shaking. The furious yell has them all staring at him in shock, Claire squeaking in fear and jumping half a foot in the air. He wants to apologise, but feels like it might take away the sting.

Niall rises to his feet, too, and puts a calming hand on Zayn’s lower back, but it just makes the burn spread through his whole body. He feels white hot, electric, like a ticking time bomb. He needs to get out of here.

“You know what? Fuck you both. We’ll come back for the dinner party, and that’s it, though I don’t see why either of us should give you any kind of press. We’ll leave after.” Niall’s voice is low, gruff, like he’s just chewed rocks. 

With his hand on Zayn’s back, second slice of toast clamped between his teeth, he waves a goodbye to Claire, and they leave the house.

***

Outside of the house, paparazzi are swarming, and Zayn feels himself blanch in response to the clamouring crowd. He hates large groups of people, even more so when those people have cameras, and he hates the idea that he might be on some shitty news rag tomorrow for everybody to see; shaking with anger, eyes wild.

“Niall, Niall, is it true this is your boyfriend?” Calls a man in a flat cap, like a shitty farmer.

“My parents aren’t fuckin’ royals, now stop yelling.” Niall barks; and his hold on Zayn’s back gets only tighter as they near the car, noise level increasing with every step.

“So he is, then?” Calls a woman, bright red hair blown across her face with the sudden gust of wind that tears across the huge lawn.

Niall stays silent, opens Zayn’s door, and slides into his own side.

The doors block out almost all sound as they close, and the windows are blackened. Nobody can see in, nobody can hear them, and they can breathe for the first time since yesterday evening.

Niall turns to him, tears in his eyes, looking utterly distraught; a sudden sob is wrenched from his throat, and Zayn clambers across the gap to situate himself on Niall’s lap, his own fury forgotten. It must hurt Niall, he knows, to have parents like that, to have no family he can turn to in any situation. It must burn through his bones like a forest fire, tearing him apart from the inside out. How unloved must he feel?

Zayn just holds on to him tighter.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should be comforting you, I should never have br-brought you, fuck.” Niall chokes, panicky, chest rising with rapid breaths.

In another world, Zayn wouldn’t have come. He would have stayed at home, Niall would have found someone else, and he wouldn’t be crying right now. In another world, Zayn wouldn’t be head over heels in love with a boy he doesn’t really know.

In another world, Zayn would take this opportunity to kiss Niall, and Niall would kiss back.

In this world, Zayn just hugs him until he cries himself out. 

In this world, Zayn’s a bit of an idiot.

***

Two hours later, they’re sat in the Café at 36, watching people trail past the windows. They’re not talking, too preoccupied to even try, worn out from the emotional shitstorm that was their breakfast. 

It’s when Niall stands to buy them two more coffees that Niall’s phone vibrates on the table, screen flashing with a message alert.

Zayn glances towards where Niall’s chatting with the elderly woman at the counter, and decides in that same moment he probably wouldn’t be that bothered about Zayn checking who the message was from.

He reaches out for it, pulls it towards him, and his jaw swings open at the sight of the words on the screen.

_Greg: Mother & father don’t want you coming to the dinner party. Father will be cutting off your funds asap. No longer consider yourself part of our family. An official statement will be made upon your leaving. Get your bags and leave._

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, feeling tears prick at his own eyes.

If his own parents had disowned him, he’d never feel like he belonged. He’d never feel like he was necessary in a community.

Niall comes back to the table, smiling, but it slowly drops off his face like hot, melting wax when he sees the look on Zayn’s face.

“What is it?” He whispers, sitting down shakily, face gone deadly pale.

In response, Zayn shows him the screen.

***

They’re back in Manchester six hours later, Niall clinging desperately to Zayn’s back as they walk up the stairs to his and Harry’s shared flat.

The door to the flat opens after only one knock. They’d let Harry know almost straight after Niall had got the message, and he’d come back immediately, even though Niall and Zayn wouldn’t be back for hours yet.

“Niall,” Harry chokes, and Niall tumbles into him, dry, heaving sobs wracking the air.

The sound sends shivers up and down Zayn’s spine, chilled to the bone with it.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, if I had stayed here…” Zayn mumbles, lips pressing into the crown of Niall’s head, the way he’s always done when his sisters get scared. 

Niall shakes under his mouth, breath heaving, before he glances up to Zayn.

“Zayn, the only good thing that came from that trip was learning that I was actually head over heels in love with you.”

And that’s that, really. It’s never more complicated than that, than just letting the words you’ve been hiding for so long. So Zayn presses a chaste kiss to Niall’s tear-wet lips, and he and Harry hold him for the rest of the night, and it’s not complicated.

When they all wake up the next morning, the only thing that’s changed is Niall never has to deal with his family again, and that Zayn feels Niall’s hand in his and feels nothing but at home. 

***  
[1 Year Later]

The stars are bright and shining in this part of the countryside, the car solid beneath their bodies as they gaze upwards at the night sky. They’d decided to celebrate, take a break from the city, as a way to commemorate the end of Niall’s tumultuous relationship with his family, and they’d ended up here. A giant field in the middle of nowhere, the distant sounds of traffic barely touching them.

It’s the kind of beauty Zayn had forgotten about.

“Zayn?” Niall asks, voice barely making a dent in the quiet atmosphere circling them.

“Yeah?” Zayn responds, hand held tight by Niall’s grasp.

“Marry me.” It’s not a big question. 

It’s not some game-changing, world-rocking query. It’s everything they never knew they wanted and everything they needed. 

It’s this moment, right here, staring at the stars, and knowing that if nothing else, they’re forever.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://seetheson.tumblr.com/)


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